The Adventures of Baelor Stark
by Emrys Black the Third
Summary: Baelor Stark is the Third Eldest son of Lord Eddard and Catelyn Stark, foster son of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister. When someone finds out about his special ability, the only option he has is to go East, to the free Cities, it is in this place that he falls in love with the very person he should hate. MAGIC, Daenerys Targaryen, AU. OC/DANY. Please REVIEW.
1. Chapter 1

This story is AU, where Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark have 6 Children instead of 5, 7 including Jon Snow.

 **AGES**

Robb Stark (Born 283AC)

Jon Snow (Born 283AC)

Baelor Stark (Born 284AC)

Sansa Stark (Born 286AC)

Arya Stark (Born 289AC)

Bran Stark (Born 291AC)

Rickon Stark (295AC)

Daenerys Targaryen (Born 284AC)

Viserys Targaryen (Born 276AC)

Year at the start of Game of Thrones is 298AC. Making Baelor Stark 14 Years old.

 **VARYS**

Vary's looked upon his prisoner with such contempt and utter disgust that any who knew the normally calm and stoic man would ask what had occurred that had made him react in such a negative way, for such an expression had never be seen on the powdery white face of King Landing's very own Master of Whispers.

Varys himself was quite disturbed at his own reaction to a person he himself had become quite fond of, though given his colored past it was only right that he would react strongly to the fact that the one thing he truly despised and hated above all else was bound in chains, not 4 feet from where he stood. Knowing that his anger would only affect his judgment, he stood silent for a few moments, his body unmoving as he cleared his mind of anger and ill thoughts, a trick he had learned whilst traveling in the Free Cities. Wrapping his billowy robe around him, he knelt on the cold dungeon floor and sat upon the ground, his small piercing eyes surveying the unconscious form of his captive.

His prisoner was young, between 14 to 15 years of age; he had a handsome, if somewhat long, face, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a headful of short messy brown hair. His tall muscular frame lay upon the cold black floor, tightly bound with chains of heavy iron in order to prevent his escape.

Magic. That was the reason he had taken the great risk of capturing the King's nephew in all but blood, not only risking his position on the small council but his very life as well, both of which he had no interest in losing. Baelor Stark was the name of his guest, third-eldest son of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark, and foster son of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, and the reason for playing prisoner to the Master of Whispers was that said person had been caught practicing the evil and vile thing that is Magic.

Varys' fear of Magic ran deep, stemming from his youth when his manhood was taken from him and used in a Blood Magic ritual, rendering him for all intents and purposes a eunuch. It was this fear that made him act in such hasty and uncharacteristic way, kidnapping one of the very few people in Kings Landing that could end in his head becoming separated from his shoulders.

Although the young Stark was an honorable, charismatic and kind young man, a man who whose conversations and genial manner Varys deeply enjoyed, it wasn't enough to let him get away unquestioned and unscathed. No matter how much he liked Baelor, it was up to him to find out the nature of his magic and to see whether or not it posed a threat to himself and the realm, for it was these two things that he sought to protect above all else.

Knowing he had little time before questions of Baelor's whereabouts arose, and seeing as he was going to get no answers from the unconscious form of his prisoner, he gathered his purple silk gown in his hands, gazed once again upon the prone, unmoving form of Eddard Stark's son, before closing the heavy iron door and made his way back to chambers, the sound of his slippers non-existent on the stone floor.

 **BAELOR**

Baelor awoke with a start, the first thing he noticed was that his head felt as if it had been trampled by a heard of horses, and the second being that his body was wrapped from head to toe in thick heavy chains. He moved from side to side and wiggled this way and that in order to escape his confines', and found to his dismay that the chains were securely in place. After trying a few more times and still not having loosened the chains at all, he decided to give up on trying to break free and decided to inspect his surroundings.

He appeared to be in a small room made entirely of black rock, there was no window s and the only source of light was the small slither that appeared through the door. Based on the fact that he had never before seen this room, a feat which was near impossible as he had explored the castle from top to bottom, meaning he must have been in one of the many secret rooms located beneath the Red Keep.

He didn't know why he was being held captive, or by whom, but he knew that whoever it was that had had the gall to kidnap him, and from his own chamber no less, would pay dearly when his foster father found out that he was missing.

Whoever had kidnapped him must have had a purpose, for ransom would be the obvious choice, him being the child of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, as well as the King's foster child, would draw a very large ransom indeed. Having spent so many years in King's Landing, that nothing was as it seemed and no one could be trusted. It was times like this, that he wondered if it was such a good idea coming to the capital to be fostered in the first place.

He remembered how he had begged his father to write to King Robert in order to arrange for him to be fostered at Kings Landing, a place where he could get out from under his sibling's shadows, learn the ways of the world, and also learn to become a knight. His father and mother had flat-out refused him, stating that Kings Landing was no place for a Stark, a sentiment that derived from the death of his Uncle Brandon and Grandfather Rickard at the hands of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen.

After making the case that he wasn't heir to Winterfell and as such stood to inherit nothing. That becoming a knight would be a noble cause in life and would help secure his future and hopefully someday a wife. This course of action didn't appease his lady mother, who no matter the reason didn't want one of her sons traveling to a destination so far from Winterfell. especially for such a long period of time. In the end, he was able to persuade his father into seeing the benefit of having a son who was versed in the courtly manners of the south, two months later he found himself and a contingent of Stark guards on the long journey to his home.

His life in the capital had been interesting, to say the least. Upon arriving at King's Landing his foster father had provided him with a large spacious chamber to the east of Maegor's Holdfast, and after settling in he was formally introduced to the King and Queen, and also the rest of the royal family. Life at King's Landing slowly developed into routine, every week he would be tutored in History, Economics, Astrology, Medicine, Reading, Writing and Languages (his chosen language was Dothraki, a language he found both interesting and easy to grasp), he would then spend good part of his day under the tutelage of the resident Sergeant-at-Arms as he learned to develop his skills with sword, bow, and spear.

Baelor was shaken out of his thoughts by the rattling of steel; it appeared as if his captor had finally returned. Finally, he was going to find out the reason for his imprisonment, a fact he was very interested in finding out.

He listened as the unlocking of the heavy iron door could be heard, followed by the squeaking of the hinges, his eyes squinted in the darkness as tried to make out the hooded figure that appeared before him. His eyes widened as his captor's torch came into view, illuminating the face of someone he had least expected.


	2. Chapter 2

"Varys" whispered Baelor, his eyes wide with confusion and to some degree, betrayal.

"Ahh yes, I bet your quiet surprised to see little old me, given your family and position in the capital anyone else wouldn't be quiet as shocking, and yet here I stand" said Varys smiling, unaffected by the way his prisoner was looking at him, used to the criticism and hate of those around him.

"Curse you, Spider, I should've known you couldn't be trusted" spat Baelor, "I demand to know why you've taken the liberty to kidnap me from my chamber and the reason for these infernal chains", emphasizing his point by rattling his chains.

"You, my dear friend, have been brought to this most secret and austere location, is that you have been found guilty of practicing the evil, vile and abominable thing that is Magic" Varys exclaimed.

Baelor's eyes widened slightly and it was as if the very breath was removed from his lungs, scared of the fact that not only had someone discovered his long kept secret, but that one person happened to be one of the dangerous, most devious people in the Seven Kingdoms.

"How did you-" he began

"Know" finished Varys, cutting Baelor off. "Let's just say, a little birdie told me. Now, tell me anything and everything you know about this Magic, where does it come from, how long have you had been able to do it. If I find your answers satisfactory, maybe today won't be your last".

Baelor opened his mouth to ask a question, closing it with a sharp click when he heard that he very well may die. He would ask his questions when his life didn't hang in the balance.

Varys walked over to Baelor and grabbed him by the shoulders, and heaving with all his might he was able to prop him up against the stone wall, for although he hated magic and anything to do with it, he wasn't a cruel man.

Baelor struggled as Vary's meaty hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position, unwilling to allow a person who he had once trusted to touch him, though seeing as his entire body was covered in chains, his attempts proved quite futile.

Baelor glared hatefully at Varys as he the Master of Whispers sat beside him, and he wondered how he had ever trusted him in the first place. His drill master would scold him somewhat awful if he knew he had been captured unawares, especially if they knew it was by the castles resident Spymaster, a man who couldn't fight to save his life.

Seeing as Vary's was just sitting there with a patient smile on his face, and knowing he wasn't going to get out of this situation any other way, he leaned back against the wall and began the tale of how he was able to control Magic.

"It all began 7 years ago. It was the middle of the coldest winter in over a century, the fields were frozen, the stores were closed and everyone was hauled up inside while uncontrollable weather ravaged the countryside. I remember being hauled up deep inside Winterfell, which because of the hot springs underneath the foundations was the warmest castle in the north. One night, while sleeping in my bed I was awoken by a strange noise, it sounded almost as if the very wind was whispering my name, I, of course, ignored the whispering, thinking it was just a figment of my imagination."

"The next night, the whispering returned, only this time it was telling me to go to the Godswood, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years and home to an ancient weirwood heart tree, a sacred place where my family has prayed to the Old Gods for hundreds of generations. Again I ignored the voices, but as the days wore on I became irrational and slightly deranged due to the countless sleepless nights that I had suffered at the hands of the never ending whispers, and after a week of unending madness that was sending me insane, I gave in to the voices, left Winterfell under the cover of darkness and made my way deep into the bowels of the Godswood."

Baelor looked toward Varys, who hadn't said a word and was paying rapt attention to his story; his facial expression was guarded, so it was hard to guess what he was thinking regarding his tale so far. Clearing his throat he continued from where he had left off.

"And as I stood there, in that dark, primal place, in front of that ancient weirwood heart tree, whose bark was white as bone, whose leaves were as dark as blood and whose long and melancholy face was carved deep into the bark, that the whispering finally began to fade and my mind was once again free form torment. I waited there in the freezing cold for what felt like hours, waiting for something to happen, for anything to happen, and just when I had lost all hope and was about to leave, something extraordinary occurred. I watched in amazement as a spherical ball of light emerged from the Weirwood, and transformed into the form of a child. There I stood, a young boy who had barely reached 7 name days and yet I was one of the privileged few in the entirety of the known world to have come face to face with one of the Children of the Forest, a small childlike creature who had unusual eyes, a thin, graceful figure and only three fingers and a thumb."

"I knelt before the ethereal being, not wanting to be disrespectful, the being told me to rise, its voice deeper and far wiser than he ever would have expected from someone so small and childlike. What followed was by far the most eye-opening and enlightening conversations in my entire life. The ethereal being told me that my family, and the entirety of Westeros, were both in grave danger, from an ancient enemy that would see the destruction of the world. It didn't tell me who the enemy was, or when they would attack, and that the only way to overcome this enemy was to unite the Seven Kingdoms for once and for all. It told me that because of the blood that flows through my veins, the blood of the First Men, that I had been chosen as the defender of Westeros, and as such, it was my duty to bring about this unification. "

Varys watched on as the young Stark told his story, not knowing what to believe. Whilst he wasn't a particularly pious man himself, he had witnessed many things that suggested that there was some form of Supreme Being out there, whether it is the Old Gods, Drowned God or even the New, he didn't know. His attention turned back to Baelor, who had continued his story unaware that his audience wasn't paying attention, only this time; he noticed that his prisoner's expression had turned darker, more sinister, in nature. He found out the reason why, a moment later.

"When I finally awoke the next, I remember all that had happened the night before, of how I had accepted the role of the Protector of Westeros and had been given the ability to control magic, all without knowing the sacrifices that I would one day have to make. That is the reason I am able to perform magic."

"That is", and at this, he turned towards Vary's and said with a mischievous grin, "...if you believe in such things".


	3. Chapter 3

**Varys**

Varys didn't know what to think. He had quite possibly heard the most unbelievable story in his entire life, quite a feat given that he was the resident Spymaster and as such had heard an interesting tale or two in his time.

While he himself followed no set religion, he did believe in the existence of a higher being, the blood-magic used against him in his youth evidence that something great and powerful existed in the world.

Yet Baelors story about the Children of the Forest, of being made the protector of the realm and the impending danger that Westeros would soon find itself in, was very hard to believe.

Whether he was telling the truth was hard to discern, everything he had just been told by the young Stark could have been a farce, a pre-made and pre-practised story to tell anyone who should happen across his secret, a secret that could very well result in his death.

The odds that Baelor was telling the complete truth where next to nothing, and yet Varys knew that his prisoner was an honorable and honest person. The kind of person who wouldn't say something if it wasn't at least partly true, and if, by chance, the things that he had said were actually the truth and the realm really was in danger, it was his duty to do everything in his power to help Baelor, no matter his fear and hatred of all things Magic.

If Baelor was the chosen one. The one who was destined to unite the Seven Kingdoms and save Westeros from an unknown enemy, then not only would it be the right thing to do to help him in any way he could, but it would also be personally beneficial to him to be at the side of the very person who was about to change the very fabric of society.

Still, there were questions that needed to be answered and plans that needed to be made, and it wouldn't be long before people started to question the whereabouts of his prisoner, he would have to speed things up if he wanted to avoid having his head adorn a spike

 **Normal**

"Whilst I am unable to ascertain the validity of your information, and I highly doubt you have revealed everything to me, I know that if what you say is true and your really did acquire your Magic from these so-called Children of the Forrest, then it would be in our best interest to work together, for the good of the realm" admitted Varys, his genial and cheerful disposition returned and at full force.

"You mean to tell me, that after taking the time to capture and interrogate me and not to mention your hatred of all things magic, that you want me to forgive you and for us to work together as if nothing had changed between us." said Baelor incredulously, wondering how a man could completely change his mind in such a small span of time.

"Tell me, Varys, Why would I do something as foolish as working with someone I know would turn against me at any given moment?" he asked, his expression wry with amusement at the sheer audacity of the bald-headed eunuch.

Knowing that Baelor was going to ask a question of this nature and that he would need to at least start to regain the trust of the young Stark, Varys rose from his seated position as his hand reached into his pocket and emerged with a small wrought iron key. Kneeling down on the cold stone floor, Varys was just about to put the key in the lock when his hand hesitated by natural instinct, unsure if it was a wise decision to be in the same room with someone who was able to do magic, especially as he had taken said person against their will.

By nature he was a very self-serving person, his first rule being that you never get oneself into a situation where you are at a disadvantage and are unable defend yourself against any and all who wish to cause you harm, and it seemed that he was about to go against one of his fundamental rules, a rule that he had lived for since his days as a mummer.

Hoping that he wasn't making a potentially dangerous mistake, and counting on the fact that his prisoner was known for being noble, honorable and level headed, he went against all that he believed in and removed the chains that bound his prisoner.

 **Baelor**

As the chains fell away from his body, he quickly rolled to his right before jumping up onto the balls of his feet, before noticing that it was he who now held all of the power, and it was Varys who now lay defenseless and at his mercy.

Without even realizing it, he had positioned himself into a defensive stance, his hands raised and ready to use the powers gifted to him by the Children of the Forrest against the person who kidnapped him.

But just as quickly as he had gotten into the position he had already relaxed his body, realizing that neither his father nor his foster father, had raised him to be the sort of vicious person who attacked without thought. Not to mention the fact that it would be a very unwise move to attack someone who was privy to his most intimate secret, a secret that could be damaging should it make its way to the wrong ears.

Despite the fact that Varys had kidnapped him and locked him in a dungeon, both things that he would probably never be able to forgive him for, he knew that Varys spoke the truth. No matter how much he disliked Varys, he knew that the eunuch was very good at his job, knowing everything about everyone and having spies in every city in the known world, and someone with such a skill-set could be a valuable asset to have.

Although his relationship with Varys would never be the same again, the mere fact that he had released him despite knowing that he could be attacked at a moment's notice, did show him that Varys was at least trying to make up for what he had done.

Stepping towards his former friend, he stretched out his hand as a sign of friendship, smiling slightly when the powdery hand of the resident Spymaster made it into his own. Just as the eunuch was about to withdraw his hand, Baelor suddenly tightened his grip, preventing Varys from letting go.

Baelor's eyes took on an almost primal glint as he gazed into Varys's surprised face, his grin turning particularly predatory as he began to speak.

"Do you hereby swear to do your best to serve the continent known as Westeros to the fullest of your ability, to serve me as faithfully and justly as you do yourself, and to never again betraying me as you have done so here today. It is only after you have accepted these terms, that we can begin to rebuild our friendship".

Seeing no other option in regaining Baelors trust, Varys agreed to all that Baelor had said, his expression turning extremely worried when following his acceptance, a flash of red illuminated the dark room. Varys knew that whatever had just happened before his very eyes couldn't possibly end well for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**NORMAL**

The situation in the cell had changed. Both Varys and Baelor where sitting side by side, the animosity was forgotten between them for the moment as they discussed the impending danger that Westeros was in.

Half an hour had passed and they were still no closer to finding out who the supposed enemy was. Getting up from the floor, Baelor began to pace back and forth as he tried to get his mind flowing, Varys's eyes following his every step.

Minutes passed and still, Baelor continued to walk back and forth, stopping mid-step every so often and shaking his head, obviously finding the theories he had come up with being inconceivable or altogether impossible, before continuing his pacing.

Varys eyes drifted from Baelor's pacing as he too tried to come up with a plausible explanation as to who this enemy was that the Children of the Forest had alluded too, yet five minutes later he was interrupted by Baelors exclamation that he had come up with a couple of ideas that he wanted to go over. Coming out of his reverie, he focused his attention to the front and listened as Baelor began to speak.

"Based on the fact that the Children of the Forest told me that I must unite the Seven Kingdoms in order to keep Westeros from its impending doom, it has lead me to believe that the impending danger will come from two possible directions. From the Lands beyond the Wall or from across the Narrow Sea. Of these two, I believe the threat will come from the east as the only possible enemy in the north is the Wildlings, who couldn't band together to save their lives. No, our enemy shall come from the east, yet who the enemy precisely is, I know not" exclaimed Baelor.

As Varys listened to Baelors theory on who he thought the enemy was, he was overcome with a strange feeling to reveal a piece of information that he had only required recently. A piece of information that he had intended to keep close to his chest until the opportune time. Eventually, this feeling within him deepened, until it felt that if he didn't reveal this piece of information, that something bad was going to happen to him.

He didn't know where the feeling came from, but he assumed it had something to do with the oath he had sworn not five minutes before. Somehow the magic that Baelor had used was holding him to his oath. So it was with a literally heavy heart that he revealed what he knew about Viserys and Daenerys only hoped that his dear friend Illyrio wouldn't be too upset when he found out that it was he who had released the highly coveted, highly dangerous information.

"It appears as if today may very well be your lucky day my young friend, for I have recently learned of some information that you may find very helpful" Vary's said, capturing Baelors immediate attention as the young Stark turned to face the Master of Whispers, quite keen on learning the information that the eunuch possessed.

Seeing as he had Baelors undivided attention, he began to speak. "Not mere days ago, whilst I was taking my evening stroll, I was brought the most unexpected news by one of my little birdies, news that happened to come from the East."

It was at this point that Baelor decided to tell Varys to stop beating around the bush and that he better needed to get to the point before an accident happened, an accident involving a large amount of pain on Varys's part, after which Vary's dropped the pomp and pageantry and got straight to the point.

"The last remnants of the Targaryens Dynasty have been found" revealed Varys, his

"Targaryens, have been found" whispered Baelor, mindlessly mimicking Varys as he didn't know what else to say.

BAELOR

Baelor stumbled backwards, his back hitting the cold stone as he fell to the ground in shock. The realization of what he had just been told finally registering in his mind.

The news that Varys had just told him, the news that the lost members of House Targaryen had been found, was not what he had expected to hear, and he definitely wasn't happy about the news that he had just received.

For as long as he could remember he been brought up on stories of his grandfather Rickard and his Uncle Brandon Stark, both of whom had died at the hands of the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen during Roberts Rebellion.

When the Mad King had charged his grandfather and his uncle with conspiring to kill the crown prince, his grandfather had demanded a trial by combat, which the Mad King agreed to. Yet the Mad king lied, and stated that the Targaryen's champion was fire. A fire was then lit beneath his grandfather, who happened to be dressed in his armor, and as his grandfather was slowly roasted alive, his uncle Brandon was made to watch with a noose around his neck and a sword just out of his reach. It was trying to reach that sword and to save his father from dying that his uncle Brandon strangled himself to death.

It was after learning of this information from his father that he had sworn vengeance against House Targaryen, for if it wasn't for the Mad King his uncle and grandfather would both still be alive today.

It would be a good day when he would be able to finally right the wrongs that had been committed against his house and to finally put an end to the Targaryen line once and for all.

Knowing that dwelling on the past would not get anything done and that the anger bubbling up inside him wouldn't help the situation, he took a couple of minutes to calm down before getting to his feet and addressing Varys.

 **NORMAL**

"You said Targaryens, as in more than one, who exactly are these Targaryens. What branch of the family do they come from?" asked Baelor in quick succession, eager to know more information regarding any surviving Targaryens.

"My sources tell me that they are from the main Targaryen line, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, younger brother and sister of Rhaegar Targaryen and children of the Mad King" replied Varys warily, not sure on how Baelor was going to take his most recent news.

Baelor's facial expression was all that Varys needed to know that the information he had just said hadn't set well with, and he was mildly surprised when the young Stark had not broken down in a fit of rage and had instead adopted a thoughtful expression on his face.

Baelor didn't know where Varys had gotten his information about the Targaryen's, but he trusted that the eunuch was telling the truth. The last anyone had heard of them was 14 years ago. When Queen Rhaella had died giving birth to her daughter Daenerys whilst on Dragonstone, the Targaryens ancestral seat of power.

It was a while before Baelor spoke, and when he did his voice held none of the anger or fury that he was feeling deep down within himself, instead, it was filled with conviction and determination.

"With Viserys being the heir to the Targaryen dynasty, with the right backing behind him from the Free Cities or any of the slave cities, he could possibly be the rallying point for a Targaryen restoration, it has happened before, it can certainly happen again. Maybe the Targaryens are the unknown enemy. A Targaryen restoration is something that I cannot, nay, will not let come to pass. "

"If what you believe to be true, is, in fact, true, then what do you propose to do about it. It's not like you can just go around saying that the Children of the Forest told you that Westeros is in danger, you'd be branded a heretic for sure" said Varys.

Baelor knew that Varys spoke the truth, he could not go around telling just anybody about the imminent danger that Westeros was in, let alone to the King. No. He would have to do this by himself, he would need to find cold, hard, evidence that suggested an invasion from the east, only then would the rest of the Seven Kingdoms band together and put an end to those who would see Westeros brought to its knees. And if it should prove that Targaryens were not planning an invasion of Westeros, then he would avenge his grandfather and uncle by laying waste to the Targaryen line once and for all.

Turning towards Varys, a grim look on his face and a cold look in his eyes, he proclaimed.

"I shall cross the Narrow Sea, and make for the the Free City of Pentos"


	5. Chapter 5

**NORMAL**

"No. Abso-bloody-lutely not. I forbid you from doing any such thing." bellowed the King as he sat down behind his desk, a large goblet of wine in one hand a leg of chicken in the other.

"Please Uncle, I need to do this. The honor of my house is at stake, if I don't do this, I would be a disgrace to my family, unworthy to bare the Stark name. My grandfather and uncle died at the Mad Kings hand, it is my duty to avenge them" argued Baelor, trying to get his foster father to see that it was his duty to cross the Narrow Sea.

After he and Varys had finished their conversation and had gone their separate ways, the first thing he had done was go straight to King Robert and explained the situation regarding the Targaryens, omitting the parts about the Children of the Forest, his Magic and the impending danger that Westeros was in. For the last hour or so he had been trying to get his uncle to allow him to go across the Narrow Sea in order to take out a potentially dangerous claimant to the throne, yet so far, all had been for naught.

Robert sighed as he put down his food and took the last gulp of wine, before clasping his hands together and looking into the sullen and dejected face of his near-nephew.

"Look Baelor, the murder of your grandfather and uncle was one of the most deplorable and heartbreaking things in my entire, I saw first-hand what it did to your father and I know what it means to want revenge on those that have hurt you and yours, but, it is my duty to raise and protect you your father would have my balls if I were to let you leave the capital. Don't worry about the dragon spawn, they'll be dealt with in time" Said Robert, picking up his goblet and taking a large swig, dabbing at the large drops that ran down his beard with a cloth.

Knowing that he needed his uncle's seal of approval if he wanted to travel to the free cities, he knew that he would need the extra incentive in order to persuade his uncle to let him travel across the Narrow Sea and he knew just how to do it.

"I was talking to Lord Baelish the other day and it would seem that Crown is another million gold dragons in debt. If you allow me to go to the Iron Bank of Braavos, I could negotiate a loan on your behalf, after which I could seek out the Targaryen children and avenge the lives of my grandfather and uncle" stated Baelor, hoping that the promise of gold would entice his uncle into allowing him to travel east.

Robert looked thoughtful for a moment, the prospect of more gold an enticing offer, before realizing that he could get someone else to negotiate the loan and an angry Ned Stark was something he didn't want to face.

Sorry son, no can do," said Robert, shaking his large mane of hair from side to side.

Baelors shoulders sagged; this was not how he had imagined things were going to go. The only other option he could think of was to beg his foster father in allowing him to go, something that he had never done before.

Kneeling on the floor, Baelor bowed his head in the direction of his foster father he began to beg the King for the privilege to travel across the Narrow Sea and to defeat his enemies.

"Uncle. For years now I have lived in this fair city, learning the ways and customs of the South, hoping one day to become a knight under the tutelage of Ser Barristan Selmy. Since I came here 7 years ago I have strived to be the best that I can possibly be, studying warfare and swordsmanship, politics and economics, and yet even though I have learned a lot in the capital, I still haven't gotten any real world experience, and I believe this may be the opportune time for me to go out and test the knowledge that I have acquired over my many years of learning. I believe I am ready to become a man. Will you please allow me to cross the Narrow Sea and let me prove to you that I am worthy of being both a Stark and your foster son"

King Robert watched as his nephew explained with such conviction and heart as to why he should be allowed to cross the Narrow Sea, and he knew that there came a time in every man's life that he just needed to go out and prove that what they had been doing wasn't all for nothing, oh how he remembered the good old days when he used to fight and sleep with anything that had a pulse. There was only one way to tell if Baelor was ready to face the outside world, and that was to speak with boys mentor.

"Barristan, get in here" bellowed Robert, picking up his goblet and sinking deeply into his chair, gesturing with his hand for Baelor to stand up, which he did just in time to see his mentor enter the room.

Ser Barristan had long white hair, a clean shaven face that was etched with deep lines, showing his advancement in years, and light blue eyes.

Yet despite his looks, he stood as tall and proud as a man half his, his body adorning the traditional white garb of the Kingsguard, a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other.

"Your Grace" exclaimed Ser Barristan, bowing at his waist, before turning to his right and acknowledging his apprentice, "Baelor".

"Master" replied Baelor, bowing low in order to show respect to the man who would one day, hopefully, make him a fully-fledged knight, something that would never have occurred had he remained in the North.

"What may I do for you Your Grace" asked Ser Barristan, curious to know why the King had asked him into his chambers.

"Baelor here has requested a leave of absence from the city. He wishes to travel to the Free Cities in order prove himself a man. What do you think, has he proven himself a capable squire" asked Robert, draining the rest of his cup in one large gulp as he looked between Baelor and Ser Barristan.

Ser Barristan blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting this turn of events, getting himself under control, he turned to his apprentice and inspected him from head to toe, clearly trying to distinguish if his squire was ready to venture out on his own and experience the real world.

Minutes passed and still, Ser Barristan continued to inspect his charge, becoming quite impatient without any wine on hand; Robert cleared his throat, capturing the attention of Ser Barristan who apologized for taking so long.

"When I made the young Lord Stark my apprentice 5 years ago, I knew that he had the potential, the will and the skill to become one of, if not, the finest Knights in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and upon review of his performance over the last several years, it is my personal opinion that he has not only met my expectations but that he has gone above and beyond what I had ever dreamed to expect from. As such, I believe that not only is he ready to venture into the great wide world, but I believe it that he has shown that he is courageous, brave, honorable and loyal enough to become a fully-fledged Knight" comment Ser Barristan, his eyes filling with pride and a small smile making its way onto his usually stoic face, as he gazed upon the flabbergasted face of his apprentice.

Baelor was so surprised by this that he almost didn't respond, but luckily enough he was quick to recover and he reacted appropriately to the major information that had just been dumped on him.

"Thank you, Master. I hope that I will be able to live up to your expectations and that in time I will be able to prove myself to be just as honorable, courageous and loyal as you."

"It is settled then, Baelor shall be knighted and will travel across the Narrow Sea" Robert declared, standing up and calling for more wine, a server immediately appearing in the room, a serving tray laden with more wine and more goblets balanced in his arms.

As the server was busy filling the goblets, Robert stood up from his seated position and made his way to over to Baelor, who seemed to still be in shock.

"I might not say this every day, as you know I'm not too good with all of this emotional stuff, but I knew the moment that I saw your face all those years ago that you would make me proud, and today you have proved how right I was. I am proud to call you my son in all but blood and I know that you'll be the finest Knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms" Robert admitted, his shining with unshed tears of happiness as he looked proudly upon the son of his dearest friend, proud of what the young man had accomplished in such a short amount of time.

Baelor smiled up at his uncle, knowing that showing such raw emotions was hard for him and he was grateful beyond reckoning that he had said what he had, for it was a wonderful feeling knowing that a person you had admired for so long also felt the same way about you. So caught up in his inner ramblings was he that he almost didn't see his uncle hold out his meaty hand, but was able to grasp it just in time as the King shook it, his powerful arm nearly removing Baelors limb from his shoulder.

Grabbing the jug of wine, Robert filled three goblets and handed one each to Baelor and Ser Barristan, holding his cup high in the air and with a genuine smile on his grizzled face.

To Baelor, a finer man there never was" proclaimed Robert, bringing his goblet to his lips and draining it in one large gulp, belching loudly after he had done so.

Ser Barristan looked towards Baelor, and Baelor could clearly see pride reflected in the blue eyes of his mentor, they smiled at each other, not a large happy smile, but a smile that conveyed the fondness and respect for one another, a bond that had been forged over many years of friendship and hard work, a bond that only existed between Master and Apprentice.

"To Baelor" copied Ser Barristan, taking a small swig of his wine, aware that he shouldn't even be drinking whilst on duty.

Thinking that it would be a little weird toasting himself, Baelor just followed his uncle's example and downed his entire cup. Placing his cup on the table, he looked towards the king, a large grin plastered on his face.

"So. When do I leave?"


	6. Chapter 6

**BAELOR**

"Ahhhhurgghhh" moaned Baelor as he clung to the rail of the moving ship, the taste of vomit fresh in his mouth. Yes he, newly anointed knight, Ser Baelor Stark, suffered from the great and horrible affliction known as Sea Sickness.

A whole month had passed since he had set sail for the Free Cities, a whole month since he had left everything he had ever known behind, and a whole month since he had officially been knighted.

If he closed his eyes he could still recall the knighting ceremony with such vividness that it felt as if he was right back in that very moment, surrounded by his friends and family, and the entirety of King's Landing, as he swore to be a protector of the faith and to uphold his vowels of chivalry, bravery, and honor.

His parents and siblings hadn't been in attendance of course. His announcement of becoming a knight being such short notice meant that they were unable to make it from Winterfell to the Capital in time. They had congratulated him of course and were happy for him, his mother more so than his father. Knights didn't exist in the north, and no doubt his father thought that such a title meant little until he had proven himself worthy enough to bear it.

After the ceremony, a large feast had been held in his honor. Oh, and what a feast it was. The food, the company, the entertainment, all of it was positively brilliant. While most of his evening was spent talking to the various guests that had been invited to the feast, the rest of his time was spent in the admirable company of the King, his two brothers, and his two brothers-in-law.

Ser Jaime was someone he had looked up to for his entire life. Not only was he the youngest Kingsguard ever, but he was also one of the finest swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms, as such he was very easy to get along with, their conversations mainly focusing on fighting techniques and the like.

Tyrion, on the other hand, was someone he got along with mainly for the reason that he was quite possibly the most amusing person he had and would ever meet. Tyrion had been criticized for being what he was his entire life, it was because of this that he had learned to make cruel japes at everything and everyone, telling the world exactly for what it was. Not to mention the fact that Tyrion was by far one of the smartest people that he knew and as such was quite the conversationalist, and it was these refreshing qualities that made him like the sarcastic, shrewd and calculating dwarf.

Never where their two more dissimilar people than Stannis and Renly Baratheon. Renly was young, fun-loving and easygoing. Free from the responsibilities that his older brothers were subjected to. Stannis, on the other hand, was serious, dour and humorless, not the type of person you'd sit around the ol' tavern and share a joke with. Yet despite Stannis' less than jovial disposition, there was no denying that he was the noblest, honorable and law-abiding person that he knew ... except perhaps his father.

Whilst he didn't get along that well with Stannis, his rigid and humorless nature not something that endeared him to people, yet he couldn't help but have respect for the man, especially after the events that transpired after the feast.

As the feast wore on well into the morning, more and more people retired to their chambers, until the only ones remaining where himself, King Robert, Tyrion, Ser Jaime, Lord Stannis, Renly and the cleaning servants.

They sat scattered around the table, each grasping a goblet of wine as they joked, laughed and celebrated him becoming a man, telling stories of war and of their many sexual conquests, a topic that made his face burn with embarrassment. It wasn't long before someone had come up with the great idea to have him lay with a woman, and before he knew it he was being whisked from his comfy seat and down to one of the many brothels that occupied Flea Bottom.

It wasn't that long before he was being shoved into a room with a beautiful blonde, who happened to be wearing very little clothing. Yavanna, as he later found out, pushed him onto the bed, her hands making quick work of his tunic as she swung her legs over him and straddled his waist, his face blushing all the way. Things started to heat up, and it was just as Yavanna started to remove her clothes that he knew that what was happening before him wasn't right. He was supposed to save himself for someone that he could share his life with, someone who he truly loved and who loved him in return, and not for some beautiful women who was being paid to sleep with him. Not to mention it would stain his honor if it was to get out that he, a son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, had cheapened himself by lying with a person of ill-repute, let alone someone not of his station, nor his lineage.

He remembered rushing from the room only minutes later, his shirts and boots in his hands as he shut the door behind him, and right into the laughing faces of the very men who had brought him to the whore house in the first place.

Yet as his eyes landed on the face of Stannis Baratheon ( the only one who had protested against taking him to a whore house) he didn't see mockery or amusement, but what he did see, or at least what he thought he saw, was a look of newfound respect, respect for not going through with something that he had vocally admonished.

And that was why he respected Stannis, out of all the guys who had practically forced him to have sexual relations before he was ready, he was the only one who had voiced his disproval of the idea, and was the only one to not to laugh in his face about not sleeping with a women who wasn't his wife. No matter what could be said about Stannis or his many less than admirable qualities, there was no denying that he knew how to do his duty, giving no thought to his personal feelings on the subject.

It was a fortnight later, after all of his affairs were in order, that he said his farewell to those he called family and to the place he'd called home for many years. The King and he had decided that it would not be safe to reveal the true nature of his departure from the Capital, and so everyone besides Ser Barristan, Varys and King Robert, believed him to be traveling to Winterfell in order to visit his family. Even the Queen was unaware of his real reason for leaving Kings Landing, something that he wasn't quite comfortable with. Cersei had been like a mother to him whilst he had been fostered at King's Landing, something that most people would find unbelievable.

Seven years had passed since he had last walked the ancient halls of his forefathers, an awfully long time for one so young to be away from one's family. The last time he had seen his father and mother and his siblings for that matter, was when his youngest sister Arya had just had her second name day, to think that she would have already had seven more without him was astonishing. He hadn't even met his two younger brothers, Brandon and Rickon, having left Winterfell to be fostered whilst his lady mother was still pregnant with Brandon. He had intended to return home every couple of years in order to visit his family, but as he got older his schedule became more so demanding that he had little time to breathe let alone take time off to travel north. Now that he had become a fully-fledged knight, he was looking forward to returning home in order to see what kind of people his siblings had grown to be, something that had sworn to do as soon as he returned from the Free Cities.

Baelor was brought abruptly out of his musings by the loud blast of a horn, soon followed by the sound of the captain bellowing at his crew to pull hard to starboard, to turn the sails to the wind and to go forward with all haste.

Raising swiftly on shaky legs he turned around wildly as he tried to see what all the commotion was about, which was kind of hard considering the crew was running from station to station as they hurriedly followed out the captain's orders.

Getting up from the floor he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, cleaning any leftover vomit from his lips as he searched the length of the ship for the captain.

Several moments passed as he looked the ship up and down until he finally spotted the person he was looking for at the very back of the ship, Spyglass pressed against his right eye as he looked off into the distance.

Captain Martyn Santagar was a portly, middle-aged man with short dark hair, suntanned skin, and a large bushy beard. He was of average height, yet his strict posture hinted at a military background and wore an intricate leather tunic with brown trousers and heavy black boots. A deep red belt hung around his waist, upon which a number of objects were hanging, most notably a large steel sword, simple of design yet deadly in the wrong hands.

Martyn's ship, so named "The Challenger", was a large trade ship, used for the import and export of various items, mainly cotton, marble, spices, salt, sugar, silver, and fur. The reason Baelor had found himself aboard this particular vessel was that it would be unwise to travel across the Narrow Sea in a ship bearing the royal emblem, something that would draw all kinds of unwanted attention.

Baelor began to weave his way through the many crew members carrying out their duties, and as he made his way to the rear of the ship he tried very hard not to throw up again as his stomach turned uncontrollably and his completion took on a slightly green hue.

Climbing the steps that lead up to the back of the ship he hurried over to the Captain, who was still looking off into the distance with his spyglass.

"What is it? Why have we change course" exclaimed Baelor in

Captain Santagar removed his spyglass from his eye and closed it slowly, his face ashen gray and his eyes wide as he turned to face the young knight, whispering a word that Baelor had hoped he wouldn't hear on his voyage to the Free Cities. Santagar's voice was filled with such hopelessness that Baelor knew that what was about to happen couldn't possibly go in their favor.

"Pirates"


	7. Chapter 7

**BAELOR**

When he had first decided to travel across the Narrow Sea, far away from the safety of King's Landing, he knew that many dangers would lie before him. Much more so on account of who he was, but one thing he had not expected was to run into trouble before he had even arrived on Essos.

Learning that The Challenger was being pursued by pirates had reaffirmed his belief that his journey East was destined to be difficult and rife with dangers. From his point of view, there was but a few likely outcomes that could come from an encounter with the so-called pirates, each more unappealing than the last.

The Pirates could board The Challenger, take everything of value and then leave, they could board the ship and take everything of value whilst killing everyone on board, or they could take everything, including the ship, and take the crew as prisoners or slaves. If it was up to him and he was forced to choose one of these scenarios, he would definitely choose the first option.

But no matter what he wanted to happen, he knew that when the time eventually came and he and the rest of the crew were forced to interact with the people following them, that it would be his job to protect everyone aboard The Challenger, even if it meant sacrificing himself in order to do so. Such was it his duty, as a Knight of the Realm.

"What's our course of action?" asked Baelor, coming out of his thoughts and turning to the captain, who happened to be having a conversation with the ship's deckhand. Getting no response from Santagar, he decided to wait until the two had finished their conversation.

"... then go down into the cargo hold and throw anything overboard that we can spare to lose. If we're lucky it may just be the speed advantage we need in order to outrun these sons of whores" barked the Captain, dismissing his second-in-command with a wave of his hand.

"ahh, Ser Baelor, just the man I wanted to speak with. It appears as if the Pirates are catching up with us faster than I'd feared, another couple of hours and they'll be hot on our tail. I'm hoping that my plan will be able to speed us up enough for us to outrun these bleeding Pirates, but my hopes aren't very high" said Santagar, his once youthful face now weather beaten and covered in deeply etched lines, his many years at sea having not been kind to him.

"Why do we flee, why do we not turn and fight." he asked of Captain Santagar, quite confused as to why the person before him wasn't standing his ground against someone who wished he and all those on board harm.

"We flee because we have no chance of besting a group of men who fight, rape and pillage for a living. We are but merchants and deckhands, laborers and accountants, not soldiers or knights, and so we flee because it is the only way that we are certain that we may live another day" Santagar answered, his voice becoming louder and fiercer the more that he spoke.

Baelor made to argue that all was not lost, that courage could be found in the most unlikely of people, but instead he decided to hold his tongue, knowing that his attempts would only cause unneeded conflict between the Captain and himself, and instead decided to find out if there was anything he could do to help.

"What would you have me do?" asked Baelor.

"What can you do? oh No no no, you have it all wrong Ser Baelor, you are much too important to remain on board The Challenger. If the pirates were to get ahold of you, there's no telling what they would do to you in order to use you against King Robert, something that I cannot in good conscience allow to happen under any circumstances. It is for this reason that I have told my second-in-command to prepare the rowboat, if you leave now you should be able to go far enough to avoid detection" answered Santagar, a sad look in his eyes that showed that at least he could save one person from imminent death.

But the reaction from Baelor upon hearing this news was not what Santagar had expected, for instead of the elated and joyous expression that he thought his news would bring to the young Starks face, he instead was met with a scornful expression, an expression that he hated to admit, looked perfectly natural on the handsome northerner's face.

"What do you take me for Santagar?" breathed Baelor angrily. "A man without honor? A man so selfish and devoid of morals that I would abandon those in need in order to save myself? If you believe these things about me to be true, then you obviously don't know me at all."

"When I stood in the center of Kings Landing, before thousands of people, I swore before the Old Gods and the New that I would defend the weak, protect the innocent and to spread the faith. I swore to be brave and honorable, courageous and noble, and to uphold all of the values that a true knight ought to possess. These are my oaths and I don't intend to break them".

Captain Santagar couldn't believe his ears. Before he stood a most exceptional human being, the likes of which he had never before seen. Never before had he come across a person who was willing to put aside their own personal safety in order to save the lives of someone else, let alone someone who had only seen thirteen name days. His only wish was that all people could be as wise and as noble as Ser Baelor Stark.

"I am so very sorry Ser Baelor" apologized Santagar. "I did not mean to bring your honor into question, nor your integrity. It's just that . . . not many people would choose to put themselves in harm's way in order to save someone else, alas if it is your choice to remain here and risk impending doom, then who am I to stand in the way of a knight doing his duty."

"What would you have me do" asked Baelor for the second time, becoming increasingly annoyed with his lack of response from the older man.

"To be perfect honest, there isn't a whole lot that you can do at this particular time, the crew are doing everything possible in order to make us go as fast as we can, the only thing we can do now is to sit back and see if our efforts are for naught or not" replied the Captain.

"And if they prove to be so?" asked Baelor.

Santagar turned his head so that he was looking directly into the eyes of the young knight, his face grim and his eyes grave.

"Then we fight. We fight for all we are worth"


	8. Chapter 8

**BAELOR**

Hours passed, and still, the unnamed Pirate ship continued to follow The Challenger, unrelenting in its pursuit of the small, yet bountiful ship. The Crew worked tirelessly to try and put as much distance as they could between them and the enemy, yet this was quite difficult given the fact that the offending ship was bigger and as such had larger sails, which meant that it was able to go faster than the Challenger, and secondly the crew were becoming increasingly weary from all of their hard work, their pace becoming slower and slower as each hour passed.

The Captain could be seen stalking the length of the deck, shouting commands at his employees and helping where possible, determined to not let he, nor any of his crew, fall prey to the devils that were pursuing them.

Whilst all of this was happening, Baelor could be found in his cabin, a teeny tiny room that had been his home for the last month or so. The room was roughly two meters wide and two meters long, containing only a bed made of straw and covered in animal skins, and a small wooden crate that acted as a makeshift table.

Currently, Baelor could be seen kneeling in the center of his room, his head bowed and his eyes closed as he prayed to the Seven, the lack of Weirwoods in this part of the world making it quite impossible to pray to his families' tradition gods.

To the Warrior, he prayed for strength and courage, so that his blade swung true and so that he may be victorious upon the battlefield. To the Crone (the wisest of the Seven) he prayed for guidance, in the hope that she would guide him well on his remaining quest and to see him safely to wherever it was that he ended up. And lastly, but definitely not least, he prayed to the Father, he prayed for protection against the unknown, he prayed that justice may be carried out upon those who would soon face them in combat, and lastly, he prayed for forgiveness. Forgiveness for the deaths that were about to be caused by his hand, for although the Pirates were his enemy, it didn't lessen the fact that they too were human.

Most people would say that one either believed in the Old Gods, the New Gods, the Drowned God, etc. and that to follow more than one religion was blasphemous and simply unacceptable, but Baelor disagreed. He believed that each god was one and the same, that although they may have had different names and took on different forms, in the end, it was all just one deity being worshipped by people with different outlooks on life. It was his meeting with the Children in the Forrest all those years ago that led him to believe this to be true, for if a god could walk in one form, then it could certainly walk in another. So even though he was praying to the Seven and not to the Old Gods that his family had worshipped for time beyond reckoning, he was, in reality, praying to all of the gods in existence.

From his position on the ground, he looked around his bedroom and shook his head with a look of amazement in his eyes, to think that a month had passed with him living in such a state was simply astonishing. All his life he had lived in large and richly decorated rooms, rooms fit for someone of his bearing and noble heritage, yet living in such a small room with no furniture and only books to read had definitely made him appreciate those less fortunate than himself.

Sitting up from his kneeling position, Baelor turned to the corner of his room and began to search through his various personal items, resurfacing a moment later with a tightly wrapped bundle of cloth. Carefully placing the bundle on the bed, he made quick work of untying the leather cords that held the package together, before grabbing a corner of the cloth and slowly unfolding the bundle.

Inside lay an assortment of items, clothes, weapons, armor, gold and other such personal effects, all of which had been given to him by his friends and family, and as such were very dear to him.

After he had been knighted, Ser Barristan had asked for him to visit him in his chambers, as he had several things that they needed to discuss. They talked of his responsibilities and duties of becoming a full-fledged knight, of how he would need to find a wife and build a home, and various other such topics. It was hours later, just when he was about to retire for the night, that his mentor revealed that he had several gifts to give him, a practice common among master and apprentice.

As it turned out, the gifts that Ser Baristan had given him consisted of a sword and scabbard, black leather boots, a dark gray sleeveless tunic and a thick woolen cloak of the same color.

Picking up the sword from his bed, Baelor once again marveled at the beauty of the blade, and not for the first time wondered how Ser Barristan could have afforded such a magnificent piece of weaponry.

Not only was the sword exceptionally beautiful, it also happened to be made of Valyrian steel, the strongest steel in the known world, steel that had been forged by magic and dragon fire.

The sword was about 95 centimeters long, had a heavy double sided blade with a fuller that went to about halfway and which had high valyrian written down the center. The crossguard and pommel were both simple in design, the pommel being a circle shape with a seven pointed star engraved upon it (obviously a new addition to the blade) and the crossguard being a solid bar with slightly upturned edges, and finally the handle was made of steel covered in a rich dark red leather, the same leather that had also been used for its scabbard.

Putting the sword aside, he stood up and began to undress for the impending battle, quickly relieving himself of his breeches and shirt, until he stood in nothing more than his undergarments. Firstly he pulled on new shirt and breeches, both black in color, he then pulled on his chain mail (a shirt made of tiny metal rings that linked together and acted as armor), which was mid-thigh long and elbow length in the arms. Next came his tunic, which was dark blue in color, had a long split down the front, was sleeveless, and went all the way down to his ankles. Picking up his sword he secured it to the left side of his waist, before sitting down and pulling on his black, knee-high leather boots, and clasping his thick woolen cloak around his neck (also black of color), before pulling the hood over his head in order to mask his appearance.

He had asked Ser Barristan about putting his family sigil on his tunic and cape but had been reminded that he was supposed to keep his identity a secret, and so he decided to wait until he was back in Kings Landing in order to do so.

Knowing he didn't have time to waste, he decided to put everything that he owed, his books and clothes, his quills, ink, and other valuables into a rucksack in case he needed to grab them in a hurry. And all in the nick of time it seemed.

For as he stood in the center of his room, the contents of which now lay in his ruck sack, he was made aware of the ships impending danger by the loud blast of a horn, a signal that the Captain had told him would signal everyone to get to their battle stations.

Quickly placing his rucksack near the door, he quickly made his way from his room at the back of the ship. As he made his way above deck, he was forced to duck and weave between the hustling and bustling of the ship's crew, all of whom were scuttling around, tripping over objects and bumping into one another in their haste to get ready. Shaking his head, Baelor quickly pushed his way past the remaining crewmembers, before climbing the wooden ladder that led to the surface of the ship.

What awaited him above deck, however, was not what he had expected. He had expected the same type of chaos that was happening below deck, yet where there was running and stumbling below, the complete opposite was occurring above.

The Crew stood in the center of the ship, all of the scattered around hap hazardously as all of them looked to the east, not a sound to be heard from any of them. As he made his way over to the Captain, he could practically feel the fear and tension in the air, the men having given up all sense of hope as they await for their inevitable deaths.

"What is it? Have they caught up with us already?" asked Baelor as he came to stand beside Captain Santagar, who had his blade in one hand and his trusty spyglass in the other.

Santagar didn't say anything, his expression pale and caked in sweat as he instead pointed east, the same direction that had the Crew looking so afraid.

In his rush to find out what was going on, as well as to prevent himself from throwing up all over the deck due, Baelor had completely forgotten to take in his surrounding, not noticing how the sky had darkened to a light grey color, nor how the ship was moving more so than usual as it responded to the waves beneath it.

Turning his head in in the direction that the Captain had pointed, he finally saw what had everyone looking so hopeless, and he would be lying to himself if he himself wasn't a little bit afraid by what he saw. For although he may have been a fully-fledged knight, at heart he was but a young man who hadn't experienced his first kiss, let alone his first taste of battle.

A large ship (twice as large as The Challenger), flying black sails and a skull and crossbones flag, wasn't but a league and a half away, and was gaining on them with an increasing amount of speed. At this pace, they'd reach The Challenger in a matter of minutes.

Baelor turned around, his hand on his sword hilt as he once again surveyed the solemn and dejected faces of Captain Santagar and his men. If it was the will of the Seven that he and the men aboard The Challenger should die, then he was going to make sure that they would die the most heroic of deaths.

Seeing a pile of crates near the main mast, he climbed upon them so that the entire crew could see him. Clearing his throat loudly, and seeing that he had gained the attention of everyone on board, he began to speak.

"Death. That is what awaits us in the upcoming battle, there's no use denying it ... not anymore. You stand before me, men of simple means and humble origins, men who have no knowledge and no need for warfare, and yet despite your best efforts to avoid it, war has come to you. They enemy outnumber us 3 to 1. They have superior weapons, and a lifetime of battle experience, but all of this means nothing, for they lack the one thing that every man here possesses ... and that one thing is Honor. Although all of us may die here today, it doesn't mean that we cannot show our enemy - that we, men of lesser numbers and less experience, can still bring death and destruction down upon those who would see us tremble before them. And so I say unto each and everyone one of you, do not fear Death. For Death, in time, comes to us all. If it is our destiny to die here today, that at least all of us can die in the most glorious of ways, fighting to the last breathe even though we are scared and there is no hope of victory. For the real heroes are those who fight even though there is no hope, real heroes do not let their fear of death overpower their sense honor, and real heroes do not bow down to the like of which we are about to face! What Say You?"

Such was the power of his words, that by the time he had finished speaking, he had the entire crew standing straighter with their various weapons raised high in the air as they began to stamp their feet and shout.

"BAELOR! BAELOR! BAELOR!"

Baelor couldn't help but let a satisfied grin grace his expression as he listened to his name being chanted over and over again, quietly proud of the fact that he had changed their outlook on their inevitable death, and had given them something to fight for in the process.

But as the crew was so wrapped up in their shouting, cheering and stamping their feet upon the wooden deck, they were completely unaware that their enemy was heading straight towards them at full speed. By the time that they noticed that their enemy was upon them, it was already too late.

The crew of The Challenger watched in absolute horror as their enemy came speeding towards them, and it wasn't until it was too late that they realized the Pirates had no intention of slowing down. They were proven right moments later when the pirates sailed their much larger ship, straight into the side of The Challenger.

Everyone on board The Challenger was instantly thrown backwards by the force of the blow, their bodies landing scattered amongst the deck. Baelor himself had been blasted some 10 feet back, landing quite roughly on his side and bumping his head quite hard in the process.

Moaning loudly from his position on the floor, Baelor slowly got to his feet, his head and the entire left side of his body aching from where he had landed on the hard wooden deck. Knowing that he didn't have a second to lose, Baelor withdrew his sword from its sheath and began to help his fallen comrades get back onto their feet.

He was halfway through helping the ships cook when the screaming began. Looking up from his crouched position, he saw something that made him drop the person he was holding. It appeared as if the Pirates had finally made their way onto The Challenger, and without further ado, had begun to attack anything and everything in sight.

Without even a second thought, Baelor sprinted towards the nearest pirate, his sword raised high in the air as he positioned himself to attack. The pirate before him was twice the size of him and at least three times as wide, he was wearing a collection of mismatched armor, as if each piece had belonged to various people, and carried a large double-sided axe in hand and a spear in the other. But as he went to strike the larger man, his hand all of a sudden became still and for the first time in his life he questioned whether he was ready to be cause of someone's death, but his decision was made for him a moment later when the extremely large pirate before him, roared at the top of his lungs and swung his mighty axe straight at Baelors head.

Quickly ducking the enormous blade, Baelor turned his own weapon horizontally in order to deflect his opponents' blows, an action he was thankful for as not a moment later the unnamed pirate was once again taking aim at his head. This time, he was able to deflect the incoming blow (a blow that would've broken any other blade), although the vibrations from the strike were painful enough.

Not to be discouraged, the Pirate threw his spear to the ground and grasped his axe with two-hands, what came next was onslaught of heavy blows, each more powerful than the last. Baelors blade was continuously vibrating as each blow landed upon the flat of his blade, his forehead dripped with sweat and his teeth grating against one another as he struggled to keep his arm in the air.

Eventually he wasn't able to take any more of the pain, and so as the pirate went to strike at him once more, he quickly moved his blade out of the way, which resulted in the pirates axe hitting the floor with tremendous force, so powerful in fact, that it became lodged within the wooden panels of the deck.

Seeing a golden opportunity, Baelor began to go on the offensive, his sword swinging forward with amazing agility, the pirate slowly backed away, not as sure as he had been a few moments ago. But just as Baelor lunged at his opponent, his sword aimed for his enemies stomach, his blow was cut short by a sword blocking his path. Looking upwards, his eyes locked onto the now grinning face of his opponent, who had somehow made a sword appear from thin air.

Quickly getting himself under control, he once again leapt forward, his sword once again plunging forward, only to be knocked aside once again. This continued for some time, he would strike at the pirate and the pirate would strike at him, each of them trying to land a blow, only to fail. What the pirate had in experience, Baelor made up with sheer energy and determination, his blade moving twice as fast then his opponents. What seemed like hours past, but in actual fact was only a few minutes, and slowly but surely they were both beginning to wear themselves out, but they both knew that whoever faltered first would be the first to die. Taking advantage of his youth Baelor began to quicken his pace, his blade flying through the air at such speed that the pirate was having trouble keeping up with him, and it wasn't long before he made a mistake.

Using a trick that Ser Barristan had taught to him, Baelor swung his blade left, and as he expected his opponent went to defend himself, but at the very last second, just when his opponent's sword was about to strike his own, he pulled back as fast as he could. Because his sword wasn't there to block his strike, all of the power that the pirate had put into his defense was wasted, which caused him to stumble forward. Seeing an opening on his enemies' side, Baelor quickly swung his blade forward with all of the strength that he possessed, the tip of his blade entering through his ribcage and lodging itself deeply within the pirates chest, streams of blood splattering his face and front as he repeatedly stabbed his, by now, very dead opponent.

Having no time to stand around, Baelor quickly found another pirate to battle, only this one was around 5 ft. 5 and carried a sword and shield. This battle didn't take nearly half as long, this pirate clearly wasn't a very competent one, and it wasn't long before he too found himself lying in a pool of his own blood.

This was pretty much the pattern as Baelor went from pirate to pirate, killing each one that came at him. Some were more competent than others, landing a few blows here and there but for the most part, they were nowhere near as skilled as the first pirate he had battled, nor as large either.

Half an hour had passed and the battle was beginning to take its toll on Baelor. His arms felt and legs felt like lead, he had several injuries (including 3 broken ribs, a deep gash going from his shoulder to his elbow on his left arm and large cut across his right cheek), and his whole body was covered from head to toe in a thick layer of sweat and blood.

Pulling his sword from the body of his latest victim, Baelor breathed heavily as he stopped to take in the chaos that surrounded him. What was once a beautiful ship now lay in ruins, pieces of broken wood, dead bodies and blood littered the entire deck. From his position at the very back of the ship, Baelor had a pretty good view of what was happening, and it didn't take an expert to see that the hordes of pirates were decimating unending against the meager forces of The Challenger.

Seeing death after death of The Challenger's crew made him feel guilty, it was he after all who had given them this big speech about not fearing death, even though he himself was scared of it. How he wished they had raised a truce flag and given everything of value to their enemy, maybe then they would have left The Challenger alone. Just as he was about to go back and join the fight, he saw something that made him cry out in anguish. Captain Santagar was in the middle of fighting a pirate (and winning by the looks of it), when from out of nowhere came another pirate, this one carrying a large broadsword, and whilst the Captain was busy fighting the first pirate, the second pirate swung his large sword straight at Santagar's head, splitting it straight down the middle, brains and blood flying everywhere as his limp body fell to the ground in a heap.

Baelor didn't know what to do as someone who he had lived with for the better part of the month was killed before his eyes. Sure, he hadn't Santagar for very long, but the man had kept him company on many a long night and had always done his best to be a generous host. To see him die in such a gruesome fashion was simply beyond belief, and only gave evidence to the fact that this needed to end now before any more of his comrades' lives were lost.

He didn't know if his plan would work or not, having done nothing of this magnitude before, neither did he know if it was such a wise decision to do what he was about to do, but as he had very little options left he was going to do it anyway. When he had visited the Children of the Forrest all those years ago and been gifted with the ability to use Magic, they had told him three things. Firstly, that he wouldn't have the full use of his powers until he had seen 14 name days, the Second thing they had told him was not to do anything over complicated until he had reached said age, and thirdly that performing great feats of Magic before he was ready could result in life-threatening injuries. Even since that day, he made sure to only use his gift for small deeds, moving objects and the like, but it seemed today would be the day that all changed.

Sheathing his sword, Baelor slowly raised his arms, quite the chore given he had three broken ribs and every bone in his body felt like it was on fire. No incantations or special action was required for the magic to take shape, instead, it required concentration and control. Standing with his arms spread wide, Baelor began to envision what he wanted to happen and it wasn't long before he his vision became reality.

No magical lights or glowing beams suddenly sprang from Baelors hands, but what did emerge from his hands was the strongest gust of air ever to be seen, air so powerful that it rocked the entire ship from side to side. Aiming his hands at everyone on deck, it wasn't long before the sheer pressure knocked the pirates and crew members into the nearest object, the force of the blow knocking them all unconscious before they had even hit the ground.

Baelor sighed in relief, even though he had knocked his own side unconscious, he could now go around and tied up the rest of the remaining pirates and wait for his comrades to awaken. Just as he was about to go and look for some rope to tie up his prisoners, he began to feel extremely dizzy and disoriented, not a moment later his head was wracked with an extreme amount of pain. Clutching his head in agony Baelor fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his head as tried to make the pain go away. This continued for several minutes until the pain became so unbearable that he too fell to the ground, his body landing with a heavy thud as he succumbed to the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

NORMAL POV

A lone man slowly walked the length of the dimly lit hallway, his features hidden by the darkness of the room. Passing several doors, all worn and peeling, he came to a stop at the last door at the end of the hall, where a guard happened to be standing watch.

"Has he awoken?" he asked.

"Not yet" grunted the guard.

Smiling, the unknown man replied "And he'd wish he hadn't by the time I'm through with him"

The guard chuckled deeply as he opened the door for the man, his eyes shining with mirth at the image the unknown man had placed in his head. Nodding to the guard, the man walked into the dimly lit room, closing the door behind him as went.

The room that he found himself in was quite small, the walls were made of thick, rough, sandstone and the floor was covered with a thick layer of dried grass. There were no windows to be seen, and the only light came from two flaming torches located on either side of the room. Turning to the center of the room, the unnamed man's eyes glinted with perverse pleasure, as well as mild curiosity, as he looked upon the unconscious form of his prisoner.

Standing in the middle of the dimly lit room, held upright by an assortment of heavy iron chains, was the unconscious and naked form of Baelor Stark. Blue and purple bruises covered the entire right side of his ribcage, the wound on his left arm was weeping a dark yellowy puss-like substance, and a dark trail of blood was slowly running down his arm, past his fingers and into a dark pool that had formed at his feet. Little drops of blood covered his face, and the cut on his cheek was already beginning to get infected.

When his Captain had told them that they had spotted an unguarded merchant ship that was ripe for the taking, he and the rest of the crew thought it would be like any other raid, they would board the enemy ship, take anything and everything of value, maybe take a couple deckhands as slaves and be on their merry way, yet this couldn't have been any further from the truth. What they thought was going to be an easy victory, had turned into a full-blown bloodbath with a great many losses on either side.

One of those losses had been that of his leader, Captain Rolf Seabane. He had witnessed the death of his Captain at the hands of the man before him, seeing as how the Captain was the best warrior amongst them, it was quite hard to grasp the fact that a pesky little maggot like his prisoner could get the better of someone so skilled in battle as his Captain.

He didn't know how to feel about the death of his Captain. On one hand he had sailed under his captain for nigh on fifteen years and relationship as long as there's wasn't something that just faded overnight, but on the other hand the death of his Captain had paved the way for him to become the new Captain of The Viper, something he had wanted for the longest of times.

What he saw next onboard the merchant ship, however, chilled him to his very core. He was in the middle of a battle with a member of the enemy when from out of the corner of his eye he spotted the same person who had killed the Captain, his arms raised on either side of him and a look of deep concentration etched upon his scrawny face.

He didn't know what the foolish man was trying to accomplish, but it seemed like the perfect opportunity to enact his revenge for the death of his Captain. His mighty battle axe made quick work of his oncoming enemies as he began to make his way towards his target. Having not seen his target up close before, he was quite surprised to learn that the person he was about to attack, the very person who had taken down the best warrior that he knew, was nothing more than a mere boy, a boy who looked as if he hadn't even seen fifteen name days.

Shaking his head of his wandering thoughts, he continued to make his way forward, pushing past friend and foe alike in his haste to take down his enemy. He was but 10 feet away from his target, his blade poised high above his head in a position to strike, when from out of nowhere the already strong winds began to pick up, the sails began to flap about wildly and the ship began to rock uncontrollably from side to side. Such was the force of the wind that he struggled to move forward, each step he took taking twice the amount of effort as the last. Just as he was about to finally reach his target, the weather became so violent and out of control that he was violently thrown backward, his body (and that of everyone else on-board) flying through the air and his head hitting the mast of the ship with a loud thud. Such was the force of the blow that he slowly succumbed to unconsciousness, but not before his eyes caught sight of something that denied belief.

The boy who he was just about to attack had lowered his arms, and as he did so the wind began to die down and everything returned to normal. Now he was quite aware that he wasn't the brightest of people, but that didn't mean he was an idiot either. He knew that whatever it was that had just happened hadn't been caused by natural means, and he would bet all the gold that he possessed that the boy had something to do with it. Whatever it was, he would get to the middle of it.

The man was brought out of his thoughts by the soft rattling of metal. Turning to the left he saw that his prisoner was slowly beginning to stir.

'Finally' thought the man. 'Time to get some answers'

BAELORS POV

Baelor cried out in agony as the whip once more whistled through the air before making contact with the bare skin of his back, which if he had to guess, was now a mangled mess of skin and blood.

Baelor clenched his fists tightly as another mighty blow landed against his back, his whole frame shaking from side to side as his body convulsed uncontrollably. Again and again, he was struck by the whistling whip of his captor. Each strike felt more painful than the last. At first, he had counted each blow as it landed, as a way to take his mind off of the searing pain that covered his entire body. He had lost count at forty-four.

He didn't know how it had come to this. One moment he was using his magic to knock out the pirates, and the next he was waking up in this dimly lit room, his whole body covered in chains and a lone man standing before him. Seeing as how he couldn't remember anything before knocking the pirates unconscious, he assumed that he had knocked himself out for overdoing it with his magic. Something that had happened on multiple occasions in the past.

When he had come to, the first thing he noticed was that he covered in chains from head to foot, and the second thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone. He soon found out that the man's name was Myke Gardner, and that he was the new captain of the pirates who had attacked The Challenger.

Myke had told him that he knew that he was the one responsible for the abnormal weather, and for him and his crew being knocked unconscious. He had then asked him who and what he was, both questions he had refused to answer. It was his refusal that had landed him in his current predicament of being chained up and whipped by his enemies.

Finally, the whipping fell silent, and Baelor was finally able to untense his clenching muscles, but as he did so his body fell forward as he realized how utterly exhausted he really was. The chains around him strained tightly against his arms and legs and prevented him from falling flat on his face.

"Ready to answer the questions, boy?" grunted Myke as he stepped in front of Baelor.

The pirate captain towered above him by a good a head and a half, so with some difficulty he raised his head and looked up into the face of his enemy. Gardner was tall and built like an ox. He had a large black beard and mane of scruffy black hair and chilling black eyes.

"Never. You'll never break me" spat Baelor with as much hate as he could muster given his current state.

Myke laughed loudly "You've got guts boy, I'll give you that. I've seen men thrice yor age break twice as fast as you. But I must say it's futile to resist. Eventually, I'll get the answers out of you one way or another. Even if I have to keep you here for a month and chop you up limb from limb. Now tell me; who are you? And more importantly, What are you?"

Baelor just had to look into those cold black eyes to know that the only reason he was still alive was that he hadn't revealed who he was and what he could do. No doubt he would want to either ransom him to the King and his father or try to harness the power that resided within him. His only chance of survival was to somehow find a way of escaping from this place, and the only way to do that was to wait until his Magic somehow recharged and got him out of his situation. He only prayed that his magic didn't take too long to regenerate for he didn't know how much longer he could withstand the pain.

Baelor shook his head from side to side, and the last thing he remembered was seeing Mykes grinning face before a large-knuckled fist came into view and connected with the side of his head, knocking him unconscious immediately.


	10. Chapter 10

**BAELORS POV**

Baelor both yawned and shivered at the same time. He hadn't had any sleep in what felt like ages, and he was shivering because he was stark naked and had recently been drenched in water. His position hadn't changed since he had been locked up by the pirates who had captured him. He still hung suspended from the ceiling by thick iron chains. The chain so short that his feet just barely reached the disgustingly dirty floor forcing him to stand on the tip of his toes. The awkward position making his arms, back and neck ache with a dull throbbing pain. His arms felt like they were on fire from holding up his weight, and his wrists were red raw and bleeding from where the chains had cut deep into his flesh. He didn't know how long he had been locked up, but it had felt like an eternity. An eternity of pain that never seemed to end.

Every day someone new would enter his cell, ask him the same questions that Gardner had asked him and torture him when he refused to answer. Their methods of torture were various and brutal. Sleep deprivation, waterboarding, whipping, cutting and burning were some of the more popular methods they had used. They had hardly fed him, and on the rare occasion they had; it was a measly piece of bread and a small cup of water at best. They hadn't let him go to the bathroom or allow him to bathe himself. So not only was his body stinky, sticky and smelly but was also covered in a thick layer of grime (made up a combination of blood, sweat, piss, shit, dust, dirt, and mud)

Out of all the methods they had chosen, the sleep deprivation was the worse. Every time he would be nearly asleep, which itself was difficult given his standing position, one of his guards would come in and begin another session of what they called 'fun time'.

On more than one occasion he had nearly given in. Wanting nothing more for the pain to end, and to finally be able to go to sleep. The thought of a nice meal, a hot bath, and some warm clothes also proved very tempting and all of which had been promised to him by Gardner if he had just told them what they wanted to know.

To be honest, he didn't know how much more he could truly withstand. Sooner or later he was going to either cave into their demands, or die from a combination of his injuries and a lack of both food and sleep. If he wanted to survive he would need to escape, and preferably sooner rather than later.

Since he had arrived in his cell he hadn't felt even an inkling of his magic. Although he hadn't exactly tried to. The magic that he had used onboard the ship to knock out the pirates was some of the most powerful magic he had ever used. So powerful in fact that it had depleted his magical reserves to near empty. If he was to use his magic before it was back to normal, the backlash would more than likely kill him. He had been injured several times in the past from using his magic before it was ready and it wasn't exactly an experience he wanted to relive.

But his time was running out and so he had to at least try. If he didn't at least try and call on his magic to help him escape, then he would end up dead anyway. So his choice was already made up for him. Either he would die by his own magic or at the hands of his captors, and he knew which way he preferred to go.

Closing his eyes tightly he took a large breath of air, which he held for a few seconds before exhaling through his nose. He did this several times over in order to try and block out how hungry, tired and sore he was. He would only ever get one chance at escaping, and if he wanted to succeed then he had to try and make his body and mind in the best possible state they could be. It allowed his mind to be sharper and more focused and allowed him to somehow connect with his magic in a more intimate way. He had learned this meditation-like technique about 6 years ago when he had exhausted his magic for the very first time.

It took longer than usual, given the circumstances, but eventually, he felt something change deep within him as he tugged on his magic and brought it the surface. Almost as if all of his aches, pains, and worries had been pushed to the back of his mind, allowing him to function without emotion and human judgment to affect his decisions. No longer did he feel the unbearable hunger in the pit of his stomach. No longer did his body feel like it was being stabbed by a thousand needles all at once, whilst simultaneously being covered in a thin layer of fire. But more important than his pain being alleviated was that his sense of tiredness had left him completely.

His breathing returned to normal as he withdrew from his meditative state and opened his eyes. Finally – after what felt like forever – he could think straight and see clearly once again.

Focusing on the iron chains that shackled him to the ceiling, he grinned somewhat to himself as he felt the bonds that held him begin to slowly loosen. Before long his cuffs were loose enough for him to just barely squeeze his hands through. He had to squeeze his thumb and little finger together in order to do so, causing his wrists to bleed with the amount of force he had to use. This went on for several minutes until at long last he was finally free.

He grunted in pain as he immediately fell forward, his arms sprawling out in front to protect his face from hitting the floor. His legs so weak from non-use that they hadn't been able to bear the entirety of his weight so suddenly.

Wiping his now filthy hands on some dead dried up grass, he took his time to steady himself before slowly getting to his feet. Standing on shaky legs he looked around the room properly for the first time since he had been captured by the pirates.

The room itself hadn't changed, it was still just as small and made out of solid rock with no windows or sources of light. The floor that was once littered with clean dry grass was now dirty beyond recognition, especially the area closest to where he had been imprisoned. A thick layer of blood, piss, and shit covered the ground, all of which had mixed with the dirty water the pirates had constantly poured over him to keep him awake when he was on the verge of falling asleep.

Looking around the room he was surprised to see a large wooden table pressed up against the wall that his back had been facing when he had been chained to the ceiling. What surprised him more was the fact that all of his personal belongings had been carelessly left in the open. From the looks of it, even his weapons and rucksack had been stored within 3 feet of him. He assumed that the pirates thought he was unable to ever escape and had foolishly not locked away his personal effects in a more secure location of the building.

'A mistake they will not soon forget' he thought to himself as he walked over to the table.

Everything he had brought with him on his journey lay untouched upon the table before him. His cloak, his sword and dagger, his leather rucksack (full of the few personal belongings he had brought with him), his leather boots, his shirt, breeches and tunic, and his hefty coin purse were exactly as he remembered. He thought it odd that they hadn't taken his gold at the very least. Perhaps the spell of warding he had been testing out had actually worked.

Here he used the term 'Spell' very loosely. He didn't know any words or incantations to make his magic do what it did. How could he when he was the only person he knew of who could control magic they way that he could.

There were stories of course. Myths and legends that spoke of certain individuals in ages past being able to perform great feats of magic, but most didn't believe in such nonsense. Especially those who lived in Westeros, who thought magic was nothing more than a mythical force. People in the East, however, held very different beliefs and rituals of blood, fire, and death were often practiced by the people of Essos.

His magic was vastly different to what they could do. He didn't need to perform a human sacrifice or pray to a god in order for his magic to work. His magic was very real and very powerful. All he did was envision what he wanted and then use his will to make it happen. Nothing more and nothing less. Small feats of magic he could do with little to no effort, but bigger, more advanced feats of magic required an extreme amount of willpower and concentration.

Before departing from Kings Landing he had cast a 'spell' of protection over every one of his belongings. Any person who had any thoughts about stealing one of his possessions would have a strong urge to put down whatever they were holding. He was pleased to see that one of his more advanced spells had worked and he at least didn't have to worry about his things going missing.

Shivering in place from the freezing cold, Baelor grabbed the black long-sleeve undershirt from the table and pulled it over his head. He winced slightly in pain as the fabric clung to his open wounds but the warmth that enveloped his body was definitely worth it. He pulled on his undergarments and trousers next, followed closely by the rest of his clothing.

He had just finished attaching his sword and dagger to his belt when he heard a noise come from the direction of the door. Quickly grabbing his rucksack and throwing it over his shoulder, he withdrew his sword from its sheath as he turned to face the door full on.

He waited with bated breath as he held his Valyrian steel sword in his left hand and a small ball of free ice in the other. Out of all the elements he had experimented with, Ice had been the easiest master and fire the most difficult.

His eyes locked on the door handle as it slowly began to turn in place. The door opened with a loud BANG! As it connected with the stone wall behind it, revealing the shocked faces of his two main torturers. Two huge ugly brutes with black hair and piggy little eyes, who had about as much brain power as a newborn infant.

Baelor grinned widely as his eyes almost pulsated with raw power as he looked up at them with pure scorn and loathing. They had made him, a boy of but 14 name days – suffer an unimaginable amount of pain. Pain no child should ever have to endure.

Now that the tables had turned and he was the one in control, he was going to return the favor. He wanted them to feel what he had felt, every single iota of it. He wanted them to know what it felt like to be damaged and degraded like he had been, to be stripped of all humanity and made to endure what he had had to endure. He wanted them to know what it felt like to be whipped to within an inch of their lives. Of the feeling of being so hungry and so tired that even death felt like a better option than life itself. At this moment of his life, revenge for his suffering was all that could bring a smile to his face.

But he wasn't like them. He would never be like them. Never could he take fun in causing another human pain, no matter how much they deserved it. He wasn't that type of person, 'not yet at least' he thought to himself as he gazed into their terrified eyes.

So instead he did the merciful thing and just shot two icicles towards them. The sharpened points piercing each of them directly in the heart, killing them instantly and without any pain at all.

'Which is far more than you deserve' thought Baelor viciously as he stepped over their twitching bodies that had fallen in the doorway and began to walk down the dimly lit hall without a backward glance.


	11. Chapter 11

**BAELORS POV**

Chapter 11

It didn't take long for Baelor to find who he was looking for; all he had had to do was threaten the first person he had come across to show him the way to the Captain's chambers. Said person happened to be a little old woman who had told him she was the resident cook and cleaner for the Pirates.

"Who are you?" asked the woman in a hushed voice as she guided him down another long corridor, "more importantly, what are you?"

"Don't worry about who I am. Just know that I'm not someone you need be afraid of. My problem is only with Captain Myke and those that choose to follow him willingly" he responded with a sad smile as he gazed down at the leather collar around her throat. A symbol that marked her as a slave to her master.

Eventually, they stopped walking and came to stand in front of a set of very large wooden doors, with a giant brass knocker in the shape of a serpent adorning the center.

"This is it, Captain Myke's Chambers. He should be just about finished with his evening meal" whispered the old woman, before making way to leave.

"Wait!" whispered Baelor as quietly as he could, his hand shooting out to grab her by the shoulder, turning her around to face him. For a second the old lady looked fearful as if she was afraid that he was going to harm her. But when she saw the look of gratitude on his face she relaxed somewhat.

"Did you know that in my home of Westeros, there is no such thing as Slaves and Slavery"

"There isn't?" she asked in wide-eyed disbelief.

"It's true. Every person is born a free man, able to do whatever they want with their life. Perhaps you ought to visit sometime soon and see for yourself" replied Baelor as he waved his hand in front of the collar around her neck, unlocking the lock with a click.

The woman patted her throat with her hands, blinking in amazement as she pulled the leather collar from her neck. Tears rolled down her cheek as she realized that for the first time in her life she was free. Throwing the collar to the floor she quickly grabbed her savior in a fierce hug, mumbling her thanks over and over again into his shoulder. She didn't care what he was, who he was or that he was some sort of magic user. She was finally free after 60 years of being a slave, and he was the reason why.

"Now leave before the others arrive" urged Baelor once she had finally released him, "You won't want to be around here when they find out I've escaped".

The woman nodded her head rapidly as she wiped her tears with the corner of her apron. Clasping his hands in hers once more, she quickly told him where the exits were, before hurrying off towards her quarters to pack her things as fast as her aching feet could carry her.

Once the old lady was out of sight, Baelor turned his attention back to the task at hand. Grasping the door handle he wasn't surprised when he found out it was securely locked despite the Captain being inside.

Apparently, the Captain wasn't so stupid as to allow himself open to being attacked, especially whilst he was alone in his quarters. Knowing that time wasn't exactly on his side, Baelor took several steps backward before coming to a stop.

Raising his hands in front of him, he envisioned a strong gust of wind coming through and smashing against the door, removing the object that blocked the path in front of him. Just as he finished constructing what he wanted to happen, a large gust of wind began to swirl around him in a hurricane like fashion.

His woolen cloaked whipped around him ferociously as the wind became more and more intense until it was so powerful and so loud that when it eventually shot forward and hit the large wooden door, it literally destroyed the door so much so that nothing more remained other than a pile of broken wood and twisted metal. Walking over the threshold, Baelor entered the bedroom of the only person he truly hated with all of his heart.

Captain Gardner's chambers were both large and lavish. Rich red carpet decorated the floor, various weapons and treasures lined the large stone walls, as did several flaming torches that illuminated the dark room. But Baelor had little time to admire the decor, for standing in the middle of the room, at the end of a very large table filled with all types of fine foods, was Captain Myke Gardner himself. He held a large double-handed sword and wore an expression of both anger and confusion.

"YOU!" he roared, spittle flying everywhere, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!? HOW DID YOU ESCAPE?"

"Come now Captain," sneered Baelor as he took several steps forwards, "After seeing what I did on The Challenger, you couldn't possibly think that was all I could do did you? If you did then you're even stupider than I thought"

Captain Myke took several steps backward, something about the boy's attitude just screamed danger. He had seen what the boy could do. Of the power that he could control, of the damage he could do both with and without a sword. His own Captain had been killed in swift succession by the boy in front of him and he wasn't nearly as skilled as his Captain when it came to combat. Oh, he could fight as well as any man, even better than most. But something in his gut told him that a fight with the person in front of him wasn't going to end with him as the victor.

"No doubt you've come here to kill me?"

"I have" replied Baelor honestly, seeing no reason to deny what he had come to do.

"Understandable I suppose, I'd do the same If I stood where you stand" grunted the Captain, lowering his sword slightly, " Nothing I say or do will stay your hand will it?"

"Nothing" agreed Baelor, shaking his head.

"Thought not. I had to at least give it a shot, It's not for me to just give up, no matter the odds. I won't go down without a fight" stated the Captain, once more raising his sword.

"I wouldn't want it any other way,"I'll even refrain from using my abilities," smirked Baelor as he too raised his sword into position, "at least then you might stand some semblance of a chance."

Captain Myke nodded his head as he crouched into position, his legs widening to shoulder height for optimal stability and his sword raised high, poised and ready to attack as he began to slowly circle his enemy.

Baelor was having none of it, however. The only reason he was still standing was that his magic was pumping through his veins, keeping his body and mind awake and focused. He didn't know how long his magic could fuel his body for and he couldn't afford to wait around for the Captain to make the first move. So he did instead.

Baelor lunged forward, his sword gripped tightly in both hands as he swung his sword with as much force as could straight towards the Captain's head. Captain Myke's eyes widened slightly before quickly raising his own sword to defend himself against the boy's attack. Their swords met each other in mid air, the sound of steel hitting steel emitting a loud CLANG! sound and creating a flurry of sparks.

Not to be deterred Baelor went brought his sword back into position before once more attacking his enemy, this time aiming his sword forward in a piercing motion. Again his attack was blocked by the Captain, but just barely.

One thing was painfully obvious to Baelor as he re-adjusted his footing and raised his sword once more. He was much faster than his opponent. Narrowing his eyes, Baelor exhaled under his breath before dashing forward and bringing his sword down once more upon his enemy. Only this time he didn't stop his attack when the Captain managed to deflect his blow, but instead brought his sword down again and again in a flurry of blows against his enemy, so fast that the room was filled with an almost constant sound of ringing steel. Each blow was more powerful than the previous, so much so that eventually the Captain's back found itself pressed against the stone wall.

Just as Baelor was about to bring his sword down once more, he heard the sound of rushing footsteps coming down the hallway. Either the Captain's crew had found out he had escaped and killed his captors, or some had heard the commotion between him and Gardner.

Baelor paused mid blow as he thought about what to do. He could easily kill the man in-front of him right now if he wished it. The old man was obviously very worn out and was becoming very sloppy very fast. A few more blows and the Captain would be at his mercy. By the time he did that, however, he would be surrounded by perhaps a dozen more enemies who no-doubt would want revenge against him for such an act. Revenge or Escape were his options, and he wasn't about to be captured again. He didn't know if he would be so lucky as to survive and escape for a second time.

"Well Captain, it looks like you get to live to see another day after all," sneered Baelor as he took several steps backward, sheathing his sword as he went. Turning around, he began to walk towards the destroyed entrance.

The Captain frowned in confusion as he raised his sword in front of himself once more, wary that the boy was somehow trying to play a trick on him. But then he heard the sound of footsteps coming from somewhere outside his bedroom, and new exactly why the boy had chosen to halt his attack. He was about to be both trapped and outnumbered, and he knew it.

"Aren't you going to kill me, boy. After everything me and my men have put you through, all the pain, all the suffering, you're going to just walk away just like that?" spat the Captain to Baelors retreating form, braver now that his men were so close at hand.

Baelor knew that he didn't have any time to waste and that the Captain's men were almost upon him. But he couldn't stand to let the Captain have the last word, especially since the only reason the man was still breathing was due to his obligation of having a fair fight to the death. If it wasn't for that he would have already killed him with a mere wave of his hand.

"Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. It doesn't matter to me You will die by my hand eventually, I promise you that. I'll be back for your head soon enough Captain, and you better pray to all the gods you can think of because next time we see each other will be your last " shouted Baelor over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around to face his enemy. For if he did he wasn't a hundred percent sure if he could stop himself from wiping the smug look off of the no-doubt smiling Captain's face.

Hearing the Pirate crew get ever closer, Baelor quickly sprinted from his position in the Captain's bedroom and out into the stone hallway. The old woman had told him that the quickest way out of the Stronghold was to take the right at the end of the hall, then go left and then left again, so that was exactly what he did. Just as he turned the corner to go right, however, he finally caught a glimpse of the Captain's crew, and they too caught a glimpse of him.

Perhaps a dozen or so Pirates stood at the end of the corridor, all of them dressed similarly in colors of brown, black and gray, and all were wielding a weapon of some sort. Time seemed to stand still for a fraction of a second as the crew and Baelor just looked at each other from opposite ends of the hall until one of the Pirates broke the silence.

"Get Him!" yelled the Pirate, a fat, balding man wielding a large two-handed Battle-axe.

As if some spell had broken the entirety of the Pirate Crew began to sprint up the hall towards Baelor, who had already started running in the direction of the exit. He was already halfway around the first corner when he felt his vision began to blur slightly, and a burning sensation began to form in the pit of his stomach.

Turning left once again he sighed in relief as finally spotted a set of heavy iron doors at the end of the hall. Blinking furiously, he redoubled his efforts and pushed his already weak body to its absolute limit. His head began to pound and his breathing became raspy and uneven as his magic struggled to support him. He only had so much power that he could call upon, and it would seem he was beginning to exhaust his already depleted reserves.

'Just a few more feet. Just a few more feet and we'll finally be free. We can rest and recuperate when we're safe, and the only way to be safe is to make it to the other side of that door. You can't give up now, not when we're this close to success' thought Baelor to himself as he almost blacked out from the pain at the base of his skull, before clenching his fists and with a mighty roar he sprinted to the end of the Hallway.

Skidding to a halt in front of the large iron doors, Baelor quickly grasped the door handle and pulled the door open before slipping through the gap and closing the door tightly behind him. Breathing heavily, Baelor took several steps away from the door and waved his hands in front of it, locking the door from the outside so as to stop his enemies from following him.

Turning around to observe his surroundings, Baelor was blinded when a large ray of sunlight hit him directly in the face. Raising his arm up to his forward, he looked around to see where he had ended up.

He currently stood upon the steps of a very large, very tall fortress that were made entirely out of a light-red sandstone. The fortress was located on the edge of a large cliff about a mile from the main city and overlooked a port with over a hundred different ships, all different in size and all flying a different flag. Hundred of sandstone building covered as far as the eye could see, some were huge and beautiful, whilst others small and simple, but all were made of the same reddish stone that the Pirates Stronghold was made of. Most interesting, however, was that the city was surrounded by a huge wall (once more made of the same stone) that seemed to stretch for miles and miles, protecting the cities inhabitants from outsiders. Having read up extensively on Essos, it was very clear that he was currently in the Free City of Pentos.

'The world works in mysterious ways' thought Baelor absently as he quickly descended the stone steps, keen to get as far away as possible from the Pirates location. Pulling his hood over his head so as to not draw any unwanted attention to himself - and to also block out the harshness of the blinding sun - he began to make his way down the long road that clearly to the center of the city.

As he walked down the long road in silence, he took his time to appreciate his surroundings and took several breaths of the beautiful fresh air that surrounded him. The sky was a bright blue with no clouds in sight and a gentle breeze carried the faint saltiness of the sea. He had missed the wind on his face and the sun on his back when he had been captured for who knows how long. So for several moments he just closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of the sun, and took several deep breaths of fresh air.

After several moments he began walking down the dirt road once more. Eventually, he came to the end of the road, and what stood in front of him was a very large stone wall very similar to the one that surrounded the entire city. The wall was perhaps 4 meters tall and made out of solid sandstone, and there wasn't a gate or guard in sight.

It looked as if he had accidentally gone the wrong way and was now on the outside of the outskirts of the city, and not inside it like he had originally thought. Apparently, the Pirates had their own Stronghold just outside the city gates and were more than likely not allowed to conduct such nefarious business within the actual city.

Baelor eyed the stone wall up and down as he thought about what he should do. He had to get over the wall, that was a given. His original plan before he had been captured was to sail to Pentos, hire a room at an inn and scout the area until he found out where Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen were staying, and then figure out what to do from there.

His capture at the hands of the pirates had definitely been unexpected and most unwelcome. But he wasn't about to turn around and go home just because things had turned out bad for him. This was his first solo mission to prove that he was capable as a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, and he wasn't about to tuck tail and run because he had suffered at the hands of his enemies. He would continue on with his original plan, and the first step of that was entering the city.

No doubt he could walk around the wall and find his way to the main gate and enter the city that way, but that would probably take a few hours at least and he was already barely able to stand as it is. Climbing the wall in front of him was the quickest way to entering the city. The quicker he got into the city the quicker he could rent a comfortable cot to sleep on and buy something to fill his aching belly.

Walking forward, Baelor outstretched his arms and grabbed hold of the rough hewn stone and slowly began to climb the wall. Climbing the wall was slow work at first, as well as tiring as his tired muscles lifted his body up the stone surface, but eventually, he made it to the top. Panting heavily Baelor sat atop the wall for a minute as he tried to catch his breath, as well as taking a second to see what he hadn't been able to see from the other side of the wall.

Right below him was what appeared to be some rich Lords property. There was a large field of grass that was perhaps 300 meters long by 300 meters wide and was surrounded by rows upon rows of magnificently colorful flowers with every variant of flower imaginable. On the other side of the field was a very large villa that stood several stories high and had various towers coming out of it. It too was made out of the same material as the rest of the city.

Glancing once more at the breathtaking sight, Baelor turned around in his seat atop the wall and slowly began to make his way down the ground level. He had only taken two steps down when his vision once more began to blur like it had in the Pirate's fortress, and his head began to ache the same as it had earlier. Grasping the wall tightly, Baelor blinked furiously he tried to clear his vision. But several minutes passed and his vision wasn't improving, and his head felt like it was being split in two it was so painful.

It seemed as if his magic had finally burned itself so low that it wasn't able to power his body any longer, and his body was shutting down because it could no longer support itself.

Eventually, the pain in his head began to spread down the entirety of his body as his Magic's protective enchantment wore off, and all of his aches, pains, hunger, and tiredness returned to him all at once. It hit him like a hammer as his eyes began to close of their own accord and his stomach rumbled in agonizing hunger. The pain eventually becoming so unbearable in several parts of his body, that he had no choice but to let go of the wall he had been desperately holding onto for dear life. His body fell backward of its own accord as he almost blacked out from the pain, falling several meters before hitting the ground below with a heavy thud, falling into unconsciousness as soon as his head hit the floor.

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	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Daenery's sighed loudly to herself as she walked barefoot through Magister Illyrio's breathtakingly beautiful garden. Rows upon rows of flowers as far as they eye could see, in hundreds of different colors ranging from the darkest black to the brightest yellow.

"What's wrong Milady? You look troubled" asked her handmaiden Ella.

"Nothing, Ella. I'm just bored is all" replied Dany as she turned her attention away from the flowers and towards the handmaiden.

Ella was a tall girl of 20 years old, with long brown hair, large brown eyes, and large beautiful smile. She had been given to her as a gift by their host Magister Illyrio when they had first arrived in Pentos. Since then there hadn't been a day were Ella wasn't by her side, wherever she went Ella was sure to not be far behind.

"At least it's a beautiful day for one to be bored on" said the young woman, a large smile spreading across her face.

"There is that I suppose" agreed Daenerys as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sun upon her honey-colored skin.

The beautiful weather was one of the main reasons she had decided to go for a walk in the garden in the first place (that and she loved how the lush green grass tickled the bottom of her feet whenever she took a step forward). The other reason was that it was one of very few places on the Magister's entire estate where she could escape the ever watchful eyes of her older brother Viserys.

Ever since she had matured from young girl to young lady, her brothers violet eyes had followed her wherever she went. Always watching, always leering. He had touched her too, on several occasions. On her breasts, and on her bum, his hands groping and touching in ways that a brother hands shouldn't. He had told her time and time again that it was natural for their family to wed one another in order to keep the Targaryen bloodline pure, and that it was her duty to do whatever he pleased lest she "woke the dragon".

She knew that he spoke the truth about their family marrying each other. Her own parents were a testament of that, being both brother and sister as well as husband and wife.

This incident had happened many moons ago, but ever since then, she couldn't stand to be in his presence for longer than absolutely necessary. She didn't hate her brother. She couldn't hate him. He was the only family she had left in the entire world, and despite all of his personal flaws, he had raised and protected her since they were both small children and for that, she would always be grateful.

"Mistress Dany, someone's climbing over the wall " whispered Ella as she pointed off into the distance.

Raising her hand in front of her eyes to block out the harshness of the sun, Dany looked in the direction her handmaiden had pointed. Sure enough, a lone dark silhouette of a man could be seen standing atop of the wall.

"Should I fetch the guards?" asked Ella as she began to back towards the direction of the villa.

"Not yet," whispered Dany, her eyes never leaving the silhouette. "I want to see what he's up to. If he makes his way towards us then you can call the guards."

For several moments the two of them stood side-by-side in silence as they watched and waited to see what he was up to. Eventually, the figure walked over to the edge of the wall and began to climb down the wall and into the Magisters property.

"Mistress?" asked Ella, eyes wide as she looked to Dany for direction.

Seeing as the man had chosen to decide to enter the Magisters property, Dany was just about to give the order for Ella to fetch the guards, but what she saw next stopped her in her tracks.

The man had suddenly stopped his descent of the wall a few meters from the top. Being at such a distance she wasn't able to see the reason why he wasn't moving, but she could somehow tell that something was right with him. Her eyes widen slightly in shock as not ten seconds later the unknown man's body fell backward from his position on the wall and landed on the ground with a heavy thud that even she could hear from her position several hundred meters away.

"Mistress. Mistress! What are you doing!?" called out Ella loudly as Dany took off at a run towards the direction of the fallen man without a moment's hesitation.

Dany paid her no mind however as she sprinted as fast as she could to the fallen man's position, her dress whipping around furiously in the wind and her the fresh green grass feeling heavenly between her toes as she ran for all she was worth.

She didn't know why she had reacted the way she did. Perhaps it was the side of her that was curious to meet someone who wasn't related her or worked for the Magister. Perhaps it was her naturally caring personality to make sure that whoever the person was that they were alive and well. Either way, she was curious to see if the person was still alive, and the reason they had tried to intrude on the Magisters land.

The first thing she noticed as she came to a stop several meters away was the horrid smell that surrounded the body. So horrid was the smell that she had to take several steps backward before her lunch decided to make a reappearance.

His body was sprawled out on the soft green grass. His arms and legs were spread out in various directions as he lay flat on his back, eyes closed and body unmoving as he faced the sky, a peaceful look on his dirt-ridden face. He wore a thick gray cloak that was wrapped loosely around him, from underneath which she could see the handle of a sword.

Covering her nose and mouth with the crook of her elbow, she slowly moved closer to inspect the body, falling to her knees in order to get a closer look at the man. What she discovered, however, was that he wasn't a man at all, but a teenage boy who by the look of it was about the roughly the same age as herself. He had shoulder-length black hair that was disheveled and matted and stuck to his face and forehead by a combination of blood and sweat. His youthful face was covered in a thick layer of blood, sweat, and grime. His cheeks were hollow, his lips cracked and red raw from lack of fluids, and he had had dark black bags under his eyes as though he hadn't slept properly in weeks. A large cut ran down the center of his left cheek, and judging by the amount of yellow pus was most definitely infected.

Pulling her long, silvery-white, hair away from her ear, she bent forward so that her ear was level with his chest and waited several seconds to see if the boy was still alive or not. Surprising even herself, she let out a sigh of relief when she heard the tell-tale signs of a very faint heartbeat.

"Misstress, what on earth are you doing?" called an out-of-breath Ella as she finally caught sight of Dany kneeling in front of the fallen man, her head pressed tightly against his chest.

"Seeing whether he was alive or not," replied Daenerys as she quickly got to her feet, "He's just unconscious by the way If you even care that is".

"He's a lot younger than I thought he'd be" exclaimed Ella as she finally stood beside Daenerys to get a look at the body, covering her own nose in a similar fashion when the smell invaded her nostrils, "and smells like death warmed over"

"It's like he hasn't had a bath in weeks, and I thought the same thing when I first saw him " agreed Dany, "he doesn't look as if he's even seen fifteen namedays"

"What do we do now then Mistress?. We can hardly leave him here to rot in the sun. should I fetch the guards to remove him from the premises?" asked Ella after several minutes of silence.

"We help him. We heal his wounds, we give him food and water and wait until he awakens. Only then will we learn the nature of his wounds" replied Dany after several moments of looking intently at his face. There was just something about him that made her want to learn more. She was a naturally curious person, always wanting to know the how's and why's of the world, but this went beyond wanting to know who he was, why he was here and how he had gotten himself into such a situation. She wanted to know all these things it was true, but what she wanted more was to help someone who looked like they desperately needed it. She couldn't for the life her leave him to the mercy of Magister Illyrio's guards, they would sooner kill him then help him. Some people - like her brother - would turn their nose up at helping someone who didn't benefit them in some way, but not her. Knowing that she had helped someone in their time of need was all the compensation she needed. It didn't hurt that the boy - even in his current state - was quite easy on the eyes.

"You can't be serious Mistress" yelled Ella, " It isn't your obligation to help him, you do know that right? For all we know he could be a criminal or murderer, who could attack us the moment he wakes up. Someone doesn't end up like this by being an upstanding member of society. I say we inform the guards and let them deal with it, less trouble for all of us that way".

"Look at him Ella, does he look like someone who could do us harm, especially in his current state? Somethings happened to him, something bad by the looks of it because I highly doubt he did any of this to himself. I can't leave him here, not like this at least" whispered Dany quietly, "Without us, he's as good as dead".

Not waiting for Ella to respond, Dany knelt down once more beside the boy, her small hand sliding underneath his back as she threw his arm around her shoulders and tried to stand up. To her surprise, the boy was rather easy to lift, even given the fact that he stood a good head taller than her already respectable 5ft frame.

"Fine" sighed the handmaiden eventually, before helping Dany in her quest to lift the unknown boy's body into a standing position, "but If the Magister finds out, I'm telling him this was all your idea and that I had nothing to do with it".

Dany just smiled as the two of them made their way back to the villa, each of the boy's arms wrapped around each of their shoulders as they carried him between them, "Thanks, Ella, you really are the best handmaiden a girl can have, you know that right?"

"Yeah yeah, just don't get me into any trouble and It'll stay that way" replied Ella, rolling her eyes but with a large smile on her face, "Oh, and Mistress?"

"Yes Ella?," laughed Dany, smiling at her handmaiden's attitude.

"You're going to be the one giving him the bath. You know, since this was your idea and all"

If anyone was around to witness the exchange between the two, they would have seen the young princess's eyes turn comically wide and her face flushed a dark shade of crimson, as well as Ella's roaring laughter as she caught sight of Dany's reaction to her statement.

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Sorry for the Short chapter. Just getting back into it after a short hiatus. More to come soon.


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